Men of Vice
by StarscreamRox's
Summary: Nothing had meaning anymore. Ever since that day…nothing mattered. His life as he knew it was over, and he had been the very one to end it. CH 4 up!
1. Chapter 1

Because I have writer's block for my other Condemned Story and I've been wanting to do this for a long time. Not a lot is known about this character as far as I can gather (not even his first name) so I felt like giving him a history. :) Of course, I own _nothing_ except the two OC's that will appear in later chapters. The rating stands due to later chapters. Better safe then sorry. Hope you guys enjoy! Please read and review!

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Nothing had meaning anymore. Ever since that day…nothing mattered. His life as he knew it was over, and he had been the very one to end it.

Special Agent Charles Dorland of the SCU could barely look at his reflection in the mirror anymore, and when he did, he wanted to vomit. It never ceased to amaze him how one man could hate himself so utterly, but he did. He was disgusted by what he saw, repulsed in every way. How could he be such a coward?

It was ten years to the day…The day he did the most loathsome thing any one man could do.

Unable to stand the sight of the tired, ragged man staring back at him any longer, he turned from the mirror and walked over to the window. It was pouring down rain. The streets of Metro gushed with water as the excess rushed for the storm drains.

He laughed bitterly at the memory that now played in his head. "It was raining on that night too," he thought.

He glanced at his watch and then at the bottle of cheap booze sitting on a table by his bed. It was only six AM and already he wanted a drink. Dorland cursed work and snatched the bottle, not bothering with a cup, and took a long swig of the burning liquid.

The fire numbed him, but only momentarily, and then, like they always did, the memories came flooding back; flooding back to her and that fateful night, the night he sold his soul to the Oro.

He could still remember her face, the look in her eyes when he had shot the sonic blast that had ended it all. There was no fear. Even in the face of death, she didn't know how to fear. There was only hurt…hurt and the one thing that tortured him still…

…Surprise…

She hadn't thought he would do it.

Neither had he.

Then why was he here? Why did it end this way? Why did he do it?

"Because they told me to," he thought solemnly. And there in lied the source of his self loathing and hatred. The Oro had commanded and he had complied, even at the loss of his wife. They had barked and he had obeyed. He had killed her with the very voice he used to whisper sweet nothings to her. And now she was gone. And he was solely to blame…

Not a day went by that he didn't hate himself…

He checked his watch again and sighed. It was time for work, time to repeat the cycle again, to feign normality. He grabbed his slicker and the keys to his patrol car and made his way to the door, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in the rarely used shot glass on his kitchen table. He paused as he stared back at his self hate.

Taking another gulp of cheap booze he cursed the Oro and headed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

I know, already? That's what coffee can do children! lol, anyways, as always I would like to give a big shout out to my lovely friend Hearts Dice for her slammin review! Much love my friend!XD Also, I need to make mention of a line I had to change due to time-line issues. I had Rosa receive the call from Vanhorn at 10:36 pm instead of am because of how I set up the previous chapter. My bad :P Oh, and there will know be four OC's instead of just two. I needed extensive fillers lol. Again, I own nothing save for those four OC's, blah blah. Anyways, here's chapter two! Please read and review and, as always, please enjoy!

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With the help of a few traffic violations, Dorland pulled into the Bureau right on time. He lit a cigarette as he stepped out of his patrol car to hide the smell of cheap booze and, with a flash of his badge, entered the building.

Ignoring the side glances and the murmuring, he made his way to his office. Dorland knew he wasn't well liked amongst most of those who worked at SCU and he couldn't care less. It seemed to him that most of the idiots he worked with had forgotten who they worked _for_. The majority of the people in the SCU worked for the Oro and although feigning normality for public face was one thing, the lengths to which some of them went to try and live their old lives as if they had nothing to do with the downfall of Metro was pathetic. It was all he could do not to slap some of them.

He turned a corner and made his way down the hall to the elevator that would lead him to his office. After pressing the call button and waiting several minutes he stepped into the elevator, hitting the double arrow that would close the doors after him almost immediately. The last thing he wanted was company today.

No such luck.

At the last minute a hand shot in between the closing doors causing them to open back up. A "green" looking SCU member stepped in, grinning moronically in his obviously new uniform. Dorland mental rolled his eyes at his misfortune. "Cannon fodder, fantastic," he thought dryly as he took and excessively long drag of his cigarette.

The new recruit shifted anxiously for several minutes stealing side glances at his superior. Dorland tried to ignore the idiot's staring but after three minutes he was ready to kill the kid right then and there. He turned his head to face the recruit, glaring at him with an expression that impatiently asked, "What?"

The recruit cleared his throat loudly while pointing to a small sign above the panel on the elevator wall. "I-I don't think you're supposed to do that, in here I mean," the recruit stammered just as Dorland saw the "no smoking" sign.

Dorland slowly turned his head back around to face the recruit. He gawked at the sheer stupidity of the presumably "intelligent life" that stood next to him. "Who recruited this _idiot_," he wondered as he turned back around to face the elevator door, trying with all his might not to slam the kids head into the wall so he could wear his "no smoking" sign.

"Sir-?"

"Shut-up," Dorland growled.

At last kid reached his floor and stepped off. Dorland resisted the urge to shoot him as the doors closed.

Dorland finally reached his floor and hurriedly got off, briskly walking to his office before anyone else got the sudden suicidal urge to talk to him. After fumbling through his keys for two minutes too long, he opened the door and was welcomed by a mound of overdue paper work. He groaned as he slid in and sat down at his desk, snubbing out his cigarette once he was comfortably in his office chair. There was a knock at his door before he even had time to imagine burning the blasted files with his lighter.

He didn't answer the knock with the usual gruff "Come in". In fact he didn't do anything except hope that whichever moron it was would just go away or go bother Farrel. The knock persisted however, much to his aggravation, but he continued to ignore it until finally a familiar voice spoke from the other side.

"Come on man, I know you're in there."

It was the voice of Special Agent Ron Harris, a five foot ten Scot's-Irish descendent with flaming red hair and a tongue that could cut through steel. He was one of the few people Dorland might consider calling "friend".

"Beat it, Ron," Dorland growled. "I don't have time for your idle BS today."

Dorland heard a chuckle from beyond the door. "Teeth and talons today, eh?" he heard Ron say. "Come on, open up. I might actually have something _important_ to say."

"Then say it through the door," Dorland said impatiently as he started sifting through the stack of files on his desk.

There was silence for a moment before Ron answered, "I can't."

Dorland sighed, knowing what he meant. He got up from his chair and unlocked the door for Ron. "Make it quick," he grumbled.

Ron feigned being put out. "Really?" he said. "No-_hi how are you? It's been so long since I've seen you, glad you're not dead_?"

Dorland gave him a dark look.

"Right," Ron sighed as he walked into the room. "I forgot who I was talking to…Well, down to business… It would seem that there's been a slight _hiccup_, as it were."

Dorland, who had returned to his desk, quit looking through his files to look directly at Ron. "What do you mean _hiccup_?"

Ron sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a seat in one of Dorland's office chairs. "Sergei's back," he said. "He found some _troublesome individuals_ running around the Trenton District."

Special Agent Sergei Baranski, the only other man Dorland might humor the thought of calling friend, was a Russian born American—regardless of what his records said—who performed espionage work for the Oro, keeping an eye on those who needed an eye kept on. He was a deceivingly disarming six foot tall gent with a "sweet smile" and even "sweeter" aim.

He had been with Dorland the night that his wife…

"What'd he find?" Dorland asked, repressing any potential flash backs.

"Hobo's with Oro like accessories," Ron said grimly. "Someone's fooling around and doing a bloody good job at it."

Dorland swore under his breath. "Fantastic," he growled, running a hand over his buzzed head. "Fan-frickin-tastic."

He flopped the file he was holding down on his desk and rubbed his forehead. "Where's Sergei now?" he asked

"On his way," Ron said. "He wanted to report to you directly but, well…"

Dorland glared at Ron's reluctance to talk. "Well what?" he growled.

Ron fidgeted in his seat. "He, uhh, got a little…banged up," he said finally. "Wasn't expecting them to have those kind of implants. One of 'em got off a lucky shot, nearly took his head off…"

"Sonic?"

"Yea, sonic."

Dorland swore again, louder this time. "How is he?"

"Fine, pissed, but fine," Ron said. "Just a little busted up. He should be here before too long."

"Angry Russian," Dorland sighed. "I'm not gonna be able to understand a word that comes out of his mouth."

"Yea," Ron laughed nervously. "Once he's mad that accent of his takes over."

Dorland gave Ron a quizzical look, to which he, Ron, failed to make eye contact with. "There's something else you're not telling me…What is it?" Dorland asked.

Ron's jaw tightened, his signature "tell". He glanced over his shoulder out of habit before choosing his words carefully. "They, umm…They know what day it is, Chuck," he said, calling Dorland by his old nickname.

Dorland sneered. "Don't call me that," he said with a low growl as he turned his back to Ron, pretending to look through his filing cabinet for something.

"Right," he said quickly.

"What's your point?"

"Pardon?"

"I should care they know what day it is?" Dorland asked.

Ron blinked for a minute, thinking before answering, as though he thought it was obvious. "Uhh, yea," he said carefully. "You should." When Dorland gave him a blank look he elaborated. "You don't think it odd they pulled Sergei back to the Bureau six months early?"

"Ah," was all he found he could say.

"Yea…" Ron said slowly, uncomfortably as though he thought they could hear him.

"Relax," Dorland said. "It's only us in here."

Ron laughed mockingly. "Yea, that's what a lot of people we know have said and we put flowers on their graves—every—single—year."

"Point."

"Frickin straight point," he mumbled.

There was a long silence between them, Dorland thinking and Ron watching him as he did. It was Ron who broke the silence.

"You know he's clean, right?"

"Who?"

"Sergei."

"Yea, I know," Dorland said.

"I mean it," Ron persisted. "He's clean."

"I haven't forgotten, Ron," Dorland said with a sigh. He knew Sergei would answer to him before the powers that be in the Oro. Sergei was more Dorland's personal spy then anything. He had befriended the Russian a long time ago, and had learned on that tragic night ten years ago that there was something in the Russian's blood that formed permanent ties of loyalty, ties that proved, then and now, not to be easily broken.

Dorland's thoughts were interrupted by his beeper going off. Farrel was "summoning" him. Dorland snorted at the thought as he got up from his chair. Ron looked at him questionably. "Aren't you gonna wait for Sergei?" he asked.

"Can't," Dorland said as he opened the door and motioned Ron to leave. "The _big _dog's barking."

Ron stifled a laugh as he walked out the door. "I'll be sure to tell him to run by here," he said after he managed to stop sniggering.

"You do that," Dorland said as he headed to Director Ike Farrel's office. His beeper went off again on the way. "Aren't we in a hurry?" he thought contemptuously as he opened the door and stepped in. He glanced around the room out of habit, making sure he could talk freely if need be.

"We have a problem," Farrel said grimly.

"Really?" he said caustically. "I hadn't noticed."

Farrel frowned at him.

Dorland rolled his eyes. "Forget it," he growled. "What's the problem?"

"Vanhorn."

Dorland sneered at the name. "What about the defect?" Dorland growled, not wanting to stay on the subject longer than he had to.

"He's been calling for Ethan."

Another name Dorland hated. "Why?" he asked impatiently, wondering where Farrel was going with this.

"I don't know," Farrel replied quietly as he ran his hands through his graying hair.

Dorland glared at the Director. "And why don't you know?" he hissed.

"Because he's dead."

Dorland tried not to smile but failed. "Good," he said bluntly.

Farrel shot him a disapproving look.

"Look, old man," Dorland spat, "I'm not gonna lose any sleep over some washed out bum and some defect. Vanhorn got himself into that mess. And as for Ethan? I couldn't care less what happens to him. I wish he'd do me a favor and hurry up and get himself killed already. It'd save me a _ton_ of foot work."

Farrel stood up from his chair on that note, slamming his fist angrily on top of his desk. "Don't be a fool!" he shouted angrily. "Think of the possibilities, what we could do if he joined us!"

Dorland glared at the Director, trying to resist the urge to go over the desk and show him the _possibilities._ "I already have," Dorland replied. "And they involve all of us getting _killed_. The higher ups share my concern. You seem to be the only one not in the defected group that seems to think so highly of Ethan. Any chance you want to elaborate on why?"

"Don't start that with me," the Director snapped, slumping back down in his chair as he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a mounting migraine.

"To say Thomas is uncontrollable is an understatement," Dorland said as he continued to try and drive his point into the old man's head so they could lay this timeless argument to rest once and for all. "He's a liability and he needs to be dealt with."

"Alright, alright," the Director conceded. "You've made your point. But until we know what Vanhorn was after or needed from Ethan, we'd better bring him in for questioning."

Dorland scoffed. "Among other things," he added darkly.

The Director sighed. "If it comes to that, if they say its time, then you can take care of it," he said wearily. "But then and _only_ then."

Dorland glared at the Director. "Don't forget your place, Farrel," he warned. "Just because you sit in that chair doesn't mean you call the shots. Remember that."

"I won't," he growled. "Heaven knows you won't let me."

Dorland was about to retort when there was a knock at the door. Dorland glanced over his shoulder and then back at Farrel.

"It's Rosa," he explained. "She was the one who received the call from Vanhorn."

"Rosa?" he asked skeptically.

Farrel shook his head. "I stopped asking why a long time ago, Dorland," he said. "Just act surprised and say what you know you're suppose to say."

"Fine," he said flatly.

The knock came again. This time Farrel responded. "Come in," he said.

Rosa Angel, one of SCU's forensic analysts, entered the room. She looked around, spotting Dorland and nodding a hello to him. Dorland ignored her and turned his attention back to the Director.

"Good morning, Miss Rosa," the Director greeted her.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, pulling a small recording device out of her coat pocket as she spoke. "I have a recording of the phone call I told you about over the phone."

"Yes, yes," he said as he motioned for her to put the device on his desk. "Let's hear it then."

Rosa complied, laying the device down on the desk, hitting play as she did.

The quality was poor at best, echoing with blips of static as the man, Malcolm Vanhorn, spoke. "He found me. I don't have much time. Ethan trusted you…I…" He was cut off by a horrible, inhuman screaming Dorland recognized as being caused by the implants from the Oro.

After the tape was finished the Director reached over and turned the device off. Rosa then began to elaborate on the tape.

"I received the call at 10:36 last night," she said.

The Director nodded before he began asking further questions. "Any idea who this man is? Why he called you?" he asked.

Rosa shook her head. "No, sir," she said.

Dorland watched as the Director craftily played the scene out as though he knew nothing of what was going on. Dorland had to admit, despite his stubbornness, he wasn't half bad.

The Director spun his chair around to look out his office window, as though he were pausing to think about the scenario and the things that needed to be done for the task at hand. "Where is former agent Ethan Thomas?" he inquired, speaking as though he was forming a plot, speaking in a tone that told Dorland it was time he entered the stage.

Dorland sighed as he stepped into his roll begrudgingly. He was never known for his patience. "We're not sure," he said. "It's been eleven months since his suspension."

"He was cleared of those charges," Rosa interrupted, defending her former partner of sorts.

Dorland turned to look at her, pausing as he bit back his initial retort for a more appropriately worded one. "Right," he said, as though he had been mistaken. "Nevertheless," he said with emphasis, "he resigned from the agency shortly after and basically disappeared—"With pleasure coated with feign disgust he added, "—probably passed out in some gutter."

Farrel shook his head, but whether it was more at the idea or Dorland's comment, Dorland couldn't tell. "Unlikely," he said wearily. "A man like that doesn't just lie down quietly." He paused before he continued, as if thoughtful—like he didn't already know what he was going to do. "Okay, let's find Mr. Thomas and bring him in."

Dorland and Rosa nodded and turned to leave the Director's office. Upon reaching the door, however, the Director called Dorland back.

"Just a moment, Agent Dorland," he said, hands folded upon his desk. "I need to speak to you for a minute concerning other matters."

Dorland raised an eyebrow but nodded and proceeded to shut the door behind Rosa. He then turned and walked back to the front of Farrel's desk.

"Well?"

Farrel shook his head. "Was that comment really necessary?" he asked.

"Yes."

Farrel covered his face with one hand, as if he were both tired and embarrassed. "You're impossible," he said.

Dorland laughed. "Look who's talking," he scoffed.

"I need a drink," Farrel mumbled as he stood up from his desk. Dorland looked at him as though he'd better not. Farrel then returned Dorland's previous jeer. "Look who's talking," he grumbled, knowing full well about Dorland's "morning medication".

Dorland rolled his eyes. "Look, is there something you need or can I go and get this nightmare over with?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes, there is actually," the Director replied, sharing Dorland's impatience, all be it on a different matter. "Don't kill him."

"Right," Dorland growled.

The Director paused before adding even more sternly, "And don't shoot him either."

Dorland smirked before responding, "Fine, have it your way."

With that Dorland was out the door and heading down the hall when he bumped into Sergei.

"How iz the coffee today?" the Russian asked, his code for _'I have something for you'._

"S'alright," Dorland grumbled as he hurriedly passed him, his response for _'Not now'_.

The Russian nodded and headed off down another hallway without another word.

After taking the stairs, for he had no desire to repeat his earlier elevator fiasco, Dorland was out the door and headed to his patrol car where Rosa was waiting for him.

"You ready?" she asked.

Dorland scoffed. '_No, but like I have a choice,'_ he thought. "Yea," he said with a hint of annoyance. "Let's get this over with…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3! So sorry for the loooooooooong wait. Much love to my friend Michelle as always! Many thanks for all of the support my friend! :3 One little AN before yall head out, all italics in this fic will either mean internal thought or a dream sequence. And a slight warning, I wrote this in the wee hours of the morning so, errors may ensue. Please read, review, and above all, enjoy!

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The search for Ethan took several hours, though not as long as Dorland had anticipated. He had radioed out to all cars to see if anyone had spotted him. One SCU officer radioed back saying he had seen him a few times around a certain bar further down town. Dorland figured it was as good a chance as any and started their search there.

When they stepped into the bar they were greeted by a less than enthused bartender.

"I ain't done nothin wrong!" he barked from across the counter, rag in hand. He looked like he was cleaning up a mess from a previous patron that had turned nasty. "So if you're here to bust my balls you can just leave right now! I run a clean business here!"

Dorland took one look around at the dive a repressed the urge to gag. He'd be impressed if Thomas managed to drink there regularly without contracting something. "Days still young," he thought. "I may find him in a gutter yet."

Dorland approached the bartender. "Quit you're whining," he said gruffly. "That's not what we're here for." He pulled out a picture of Ethan and showed it to the bartender. "Have you seen this man?"

The bartender hesitated for a moment but then eyed the picture. He squinted as if he remembered something however uncertain of it he was.

"Kinda looks like one of my regulars," he said scratching his head. "But that can't be him."

"Goes by Ethan Thomas?" Dorland inquired further, certain that the man knew him even if he wasn't aware.

"Yea, but he don't look much like that fella there," the bartender laughed. "This guy I'm talkin bout looks like he crawled outta the sewers."

Dorland put the picture away. "That's the guy," he said flatly, ignoring the retort from Rosa. "When's he coming through?"

The bartender laughed again, mockingly this time. "Never again," he said, aggravation noticeably audible in his voice. "Just threw de bum out for pummelin another patron. Can't have been ten minutes ago. Check de back alleys, might still be bummin around there."

Dorland nodded at the bartender and after motioning for Rosa to follow him, headed out the door.

"Was that really necessary?" Rosa asked irritably as they rounded the corner to the alleys behind the bar.

Dorland sighed in aggravation, trying to contain his growing temper. "Miss Angel," he said as politely as one doing a job he hated could, "I really don't think we have the time for this right now."

She eyed him carefully but chose to drop the matter.

Dorland's anger issues aside, they began their search through the run down areas surrounding the bar, stepping over beer bottles and bums alike in their hunt for Ethan Thomas. The alleys reeked with filth, stale beer, and a thousand other odors Dorland dared not try to place. For the second time that night he found himself repressing the urge to gag.

"Hey, Dorland," Rosa called to him. "Do you hear that? Sounds like there's a fight somewhere nearby."

Dorland frowned. "Next month's paycheck says that's him," he said dryly as he headed in the direction of the commotion, gun at the ready and Rosa in toe.

"Stay sharp," he warned her as the prepared to round the corner, worrying for her safety however much she was getting on his nerves. It's not that he hated the girl. She was actually one of the brighter and more pleasant members of SCU, albeit oblivious to what was _really_ going on. The only thing he really couldn't stand about her was her undying loyalty to Ethan Thomas. Aside from that, and her tendency to ask one too many questions, he held no grief with her.

Dorland rounded the corner to find Ethan getting his head bashed in by a familiar looking bum with a brick. He quickly recognized the bum as Inferi, one of Sergei's newer underlings whom he often expressed dissatisfaction with.

Ethan suddenly threw Inferi off of him and rolled over onto his side in an attempt to escape. Inferi, however, was not deterred and got back up, brick in hand, and was preparing for round two when Rosa stepped out from behind Dorland, gun raised and ready to fire while Dorland found himself wanting to scream at Inferi for not doing the job faster. For the second time that night Dorland found himself unwillingly playing the role of "good cop" as he joined Rosa.

"Drop it!" she warned.

Inferi stopped abruptly, having been unaware of their presence. He first looked at the gun, then at Rosa, and then, with more stupidity then Dorland thought possible for someone who was in reconnaissance, right—at—Dorland. Dorland now knew why Sergei so heavily abused prescription migraine medication.

Inferi must have realized his folly for he quickly looked back at Rosa. "Hey," he said coolly, "we're just havin a little fun."

"Do it. Now!" Rosa growled.

Inferi sneered but complied, the first wise decision of the night on his part, no doubt. He slowly began to raise his hands as Rosa ordered him to step away, but Dorland could see the look in his eyes, the look he quickly gave Dorland. He was about to bolt, and he wanted Dorland's help.

Dorland sneered. "How typical," he thought. "Why am I always cleaning up someone else's mess?"

"Keep your hands where we can see them!" Rosa warned as Inferi continued to backup, carefully easing his way towards his escape route.

He stole a glance at Ethan, wearing an expression that showed he regretted not finishing the job. Inferi tilted his head and, with what looked like a wink, made a dash for the fences.

"Stop-" Rosa began to yell after him as she raised her gun to fire.

Dorland off set her aim by pulling down on her left arm, saving the young idiot's life but only to prevent suspicious findings in an autopsy. "Inferi had better pray Sergei gets a hold of him before I do," Dorland thought. "Let him go," he said, his tone suggesting that he wasn't worth the bullets.

Rosa looked at Dorland quizzically but complied, trusting in his seniority. She then turned to assist the somewhat dazed Ethan Thomas.

Dorland turned around to call it in to Director Farrel. "This is Dorland," he said into his radio. "Subject secured." He reassured the Director that it was indeed Ethan Thomas and that he was unharmed with an affirmative.

Dorland turned around to see a less then enthused Ethan blow off Rosa's offer of assistance. Rosa, however, was unaffected by her former partner's rudeness and proceeded to pull out the recording of Vanhorn. Dorland watched Ethan as he listened to the recording. He saw the look of fatigue wash over him, and then he saw all emotion turn off. He then found himself looking away, the site in front of him a bit too familiar for his liking.

"His name is Malcolm Vanhorn," Ethan said with a sigh.

Dorland turned around and radioed Farrel. "Sir, we have a positive I.D.," he said into his radio.

"Is it him?" he heard Farrel ask.

"Yes," he said, "Malcolm Vanhorn."

"Vanhorn," Farrel echoed over the radio. There was a slight pause before he spoke again, as though he were thinking. "OK," he said. "Get Thomas in here. We need to act on this right away."

"Yes, sir," he responded more out of force of habit then respect. Dorland then turned to Ethan. He strode up to him quickly, wishing so much that Rosa wasn't there so he could just finish this charade. Pointing at Ethan he said, "Report to SCU in one hour." But Dorland found himself hoping that he didn't so that he could take care of this mess alone.

"You're joking!" he heard Ethan retort of his shoulder.

"If only," he thought bitterly as he opened his patrol car door and got inside. Dorland slid into his seat and let the back of his head hit the headrest with a _thunk_. He was fed up, fed up with the Oro, fed up with pretending, fed up with running in circles. He was fed up with the lot of it. He was just plain sick and tired.

He _was_ tired, so tired in fact that it only took him a second to nod off to sleep as he waited on Rosa to return.

_When he opened his eyes he was in his bed, back at his apartment. It had stopped raining and a small sliver of sunshine fought its way through the grimy apartment window. Dorland carefully and cautiously got out of bed, his head feeling light and fuzzy._

"_How the hell did I get here?" he thought._

_He looked around his apartment. Everything seemed in place but, something wasn't right. His bottle of cheap booze was missing, gone from its usual resting place on the kitchen table. In its stead were place mates, place mates he hadn't seen in years. He gave another sweep of the room. The room was clean, really clean, a lot cleaner than he ever remembered it being in fact._

_He then turned to face the window. On the latch that held it shut hung a small stain-glass cross, the one his wife used to hang in that exact place. But he knew that couldn't be right. He had put it away, locked it in a drawer with her other things were it couldn't serve him as a reminder anymore._

"_What's going on?" he thought as he walked over to the window, reaching out for the cross. He held it in his hand, turned it over and over again in his palm. It felt cold and heavy—everything a stain-glass cross should feel like. He ran his thumb over the different colored pieces of glass absent mindedly, wondering how on earth this could be happening. It was then he heard a noise._

_He turned to face it, walked into the kitchen area where he thought he had heard it. But there was nothing there. He looked around, closely inspecting every inch, but there was nothing to be found, or so he thought, until he saw an old set of keys sitting on the kitchen counter, not his but…his wife's. He reached out and grabbed them, held them loosely in his hand, but was startled by a loud thunk down the nearby hallway._

_It was the sound of the spare closet door shutting, the closet where he and his wife used to keep all of their equipment. Then he heard footsteps. They were light but not light enough to be masked. Whoever it was wasn't trying to hide that they were there._

_He carefully walked out into the small passage way that connected to the main door, ready to spring a trap on whoever his surprise visitor was. All of his years of training couldn't have prepared him for what he was about to see._

_The intruder rounded the corner before he could reach it and in that moment Dorland's heart stopped. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood his wife, dressed in her SCU uniform with her red hair pulled back in a French braid. She was exactly as he remembered her. Tall and lean, the slightly bulky uniform not hiding her athletic frame. Her skin was still its porcelain white color, decorated here and there with the scars from her field. She was putting on a small silver watch, the one he had given her on her birthday, when she looked up at him. Her bright green eyes exactly as he remembered them. _

_She smiled up at him. "You found them," she said happily._

_Dorland blinked. "W-what?"_

"_My keys," she laughed, pointing to the keys he still held in his hand. "I've been looking for those blasted things for nearly twenty minutes."_

_Dorland glanced back at the keys and then back at her, his lack of comprehension written all over his face. "R-Rorie?"_

_She tilted her head in her typical quizzical fashion. "What's wrong baby?" she asked with a hint of concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."_

_He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He wanted to scream. How could this be happening? Was this the Oro's idea of a sick joke? What the hell was going on?_

"_Dorland?" she called. "Dorland?"_

_Something wasn't right, something aside from the obvious. But what was it?_

"_Dorland?" She called again. "Dorland."_

_And then it suddenly hit him._

"_Why are you calling me by my last name?"_

_She paused but gave no answer, her bright expression suddenly melting away and then there was a sinking feeling in Dorland's gut as the room grew too dark to see._

"Dorland!"

Dorland bolted up right, slamming his head on the visor of his car. "What?!" he snapped as he tried to rub the throbbing sensation away.

He turned to see Rosa leaning into the car from the passenger side, door wide opened. She laughed slightly. "Having a good dream I take it?" she said with a smile.

Dorland merely grunted in response. "We done here?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said as she took her seat and closed the door. "I tried to get Ethan to let us drive him to the station but he refused. Said he'd walk."

"Just as well," he half sighed half growled. He didn't want Ethan in his patrol car anyway for reasons other than the distinct odor he had smelled on him earlier.

"I suppose," she said as she clicked her seat belt on. She paused momentarily, as if she had thought of something.

"What?" Dorland asked, curious as to what seemed to suddenly be so interesting.

Rosa reached over to the cup holder on the passenger side and pulled out a small silver object. "What's this?" she asked as she held it gingerly in her hand.

For the second time that night Dorland's heart stopped. It was his wife's watch, the one he had given her on her birthday, the one he had just seen in his dream. His voice failed him. "I-…"

Rosa laid the watch gently down in her palm. "This is a woman's watch," she said thoughtfully. She turned it over in her hand to read the inscription on the back. She read it to herself and then looked up at Dorland with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile on her face. "You got a lady friend you haven't been tellin us about?"

Dorland held out his hand for the watch impatiently, his brow etched into a frown. Rosa hadn't been working for the agency ten years ago so there was no way for her to have known. "It's not important," he growled as she handed him the watch. He quickly placed it in his vest pocket and tried to forget it was there.

Seeing that he was in no mood to answer her question, Rosa let the matter drop. "Ok," she said unfazed as Dorland started up the car.

They made it back to the station in record time. Rosa stepped out of the car, making a joke about Dorland's reckless driving, but he didn't hear her. He told her he had to report to the Director and quickly walked into the building.

He briskly walked to his office and slammed the door behind him. He walked behind his desk and slumped down in his chair, his face cradled in his hands.

"I'm losing my fucking mind," he sighed.

"Da," came a thickly Russian accented voice from the corner of the room.

Dorland nearly leapt out of his skin along with the chair. He looked up to see the tall, lean form of Sergei leaning against the wall in the corner of the office, his hands in his pockets. His posture was the epiphany of nonchalant.

"Sergei," he said in a voice that nearly sounded out of breath. "The hell are you doing here? How the hell did you get in?"

He heard the Russian chuckle. "Your lock…It's really quite terrible," he said, every word dripping with his accent. "You should get a new one."

A grunt was the only reply Dorland found he could make.

"Not going to ask me why I am here?" Sergei inquired.

"Why are you here?" he growled impatiently as he sat back down in his chair.

Dorland heard Sergei chuckle again as he walked towards his desk. "Came to make my report on the Trenton findings," he said as he took a seat.

"Right, how did that go?"

Sergei laughed.

"That bad, huh?"

"Da," spat the Russian. "I found little. A few experiments still in cages, other various handy work, and several mentions of Mr. Thomas but no sign of who runs the place."

"Fantastic," Dorland sighed as he leaned back in his chair.

There was a long silence between the two men. Dorland could tell Sergei was gauging his reaction, trying to read him as he did everyone. The Russian was no fool. He knew something was up.

"What did _you_ find, Agent Dorland?" Sergei finally asked.

"Nothing," he said too quickly.

The Russian clicked his teeth in response, something he did to tell others he was no longer joking. Dorland sighed. He pulled the watch out of his vest pocket and handed it to Sergei. Sergei quietly took the silver watch in his hands and careful turned it over and over again as he inspected it. Dorland knew he recognized it. He'd been the very one to help him pick the damn thing out.

"This is-"

"I know," Dorland interrupted him, not wanting to hear her name, not knowing if he could handle it.

He heard the Russian sigh, as though he were not surprised. Dorland looked up at him. "What?" he said quickly, knowing that he knew something, something he now felt obligated to tell Dorland.

Sergei placed the watch gently down on Dorland's desk and reached for something clasped onto his belt. The Russian then laid a 9mm down on Dorland's desk and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Dorland looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Run the serial number," was all the Russian would say.

Dorland turned to his computer and turned on the monitor, for the CPU was only turned off when he left for the day, and pulled up the bureau's search engine. He punched in the serial number and, after a moment's hesitation, was staring at the owner's dossier.

"This isn't happening…."he caught himself saying.

"I'm afraid it is, comrade," Sergei sighed.

The dossier belonged to none other than his deceased wife.

"What the hell is going on?" he said in a voice barely louder than a breath.

He saw Sergei shake his head. "I wish I knew, my friend."

"Coincidence?"

Sergei laughed. "Please," he said. "Her watch and her gun in the same day? And on the anniversary of her passing? You know better."

Dorland reluctantly nodded. He hadn't believed it, he had wanted to, but he hadn't. "Oro?"

"Hmm…no…" the Russian said with a shake of his head as he ran his calloused hands over his dark, buzzed hair. "They send Hate to make threats. This? This is not his style."

"True."

Dorland watched as Sergei slumped back in his chair, hands rubbing his tired blue eyes. He looked as bad as Dorland felt.

"You look terrible," Dorland found himself saying.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," came Sergei's tired replied.

"I'm being serious."

"As was I."

"Sergei-"

"Don't change the subject."

Dorland sighed. "Fine. Now what?"

He watched as the Russian mulled over the possibilities. Then he saw him shrug a rare and, under different circumstances, comical sight.

"If we ask around the higher ups will catch wind," Dorland frowned.

"Then we won't ask."

Dorland glared at him. "What do you know?"

"Nothing, yet," he replied. "But I have my ways. It is my job, after all."

"I don't need you dead right now, Sergei," Dorland said, voicing his disapproval.

"And neither of us need a skeleton walking around either," Sergei growled back.

His choice of wording was odd. "You didn't find this in Trenton, did you?" Dorland asked. The Russian shook his head. "Then where?"

"Who said _I_ found _it_?"

"Dammit, Sergei, quit being so damn cryptic!" Dorland growled as he slammed his fist on his desk.

The Russian looked up at Dorland with a slight look of agitation. "I _found_ it on my kitchen table after my return from deployment."

"What?" Dorland asked. "You mean…someone broke into your house…and put the damn thing…on your table? That doesn't make _any_ sense."

"You sound surprised?" he said. "You shouldn't be. Not after all of these years…"

Dorland stood up from his chair and began pacing behind his desk, rubbing his chin as he did so. "It was just…laying there? Right on the table?"

"Da," Sergei said as he shifted uncomfortable in his seat. "Very deliberately standing out. I could see it the moment I walked in the door. Who or what ever left it made no attempts to hide it, almost as if it was waiting on me."

Dorland stopped pacing, his gaze intently falling to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sergei look up at him, awaiting his orders.

"Does Harris know?" Dorland asked.

"I thought this for your eyes only so, no, he does not," Sergei replied.

"Chances are he'll know soon enough," Dorland sighed.

"Funny that," Sergei haphazardly said as he stretched out in his chair. "If I didn't know better, I'd think him in Recon with me."

"Quit that," Dorland snapped.

"Quit what?"

"Implying," he growled.

"Not implying," Sergei said. "Merely noting, sir."

"Well stop, he's with us," Dorland said with another low growl as he turned to face Sergei, scowling at him to further his point.

Sergei gauged his response before replying. "As you wish," he said quietly. "Orders?"

"No inquiries," he said. "If the Order doesn't know I'd like to keep it that way. Listen, watch, but keep quiet, and don't go nosing around. And I mean it, Sergei."

Sergei stood up from his seat. With a slight bow of his head he replied, "As you wish."

There was another awkward silence for the third time that night. "Any chance we're both just going crazy?" he heard himself ask.

Sergei smiled. "Quite possibly," he said.

"Hmm," was all Dorland found he could say.

With a tilt of his head, Sergei turned to leave.

"…Surri."

Dorland saw Sergei pause at the sound of his old nickname. He turned to face Dorland, his expression as patient as it always was. Nothing ever seemed to faze the man. Dorland only wished he could be like that, especially now.

"Thank you," he said, "for-…thank you…"

He saw Sergei smile, but he said nothing. He simply turned quietly and left the office without making so much as a noise.

Dorland slid down in his chair, his face in his hands yet again. He was exhausted and all though his body wanted sleep, he, himself, did not. He didn't want to linger with the ghost that seemed to be waiting for him passed the realm of consciousness. It was simply too painful. It was because of this that he was actually thankful his pager went off.

He looked at the number. It was Farrel. "Probably time to get this show under way," he thought as he stood up from his chair and holstered his gun. He was just about to head out the door when the watch and the 9mm caught his eye. He reached out and grabbed the gun, carefully looking it over in his hand before he locked it away in his desk drawer. And then there was the watch. He wanted to leave it but he knew he wouldn't be able to, so he didn't even try. Without looking he snatched it up and quickly but carefully placed it in his vest pocket.

With that Agent Charles Dorland headed out his office door with the sinking feeling that he was suddenly no longer alone.


	4. Chapter 4

"Cuz you all were so patient I thought you deserved a reward! I wanna first thank Thymine for all of the wonderful reviews! Sorry I forgot to thank you in the last chapter ^^;(S'what happens when I type at four am sometimes. Sorry again). I would also like to give much love to my good friend Michelle for her slamming reviews as well! Reviews are the fuel for my writer's fire! They keep me going! Many thanks to you both and to all of you who are reading! There are a few changes in this story line from the game as the two didn't want to be compatible with each other but it's nothing major. I believe I've reached the point that I'm going to have to change a few things here and there but I'll do my best to stick to the canon story while still giving you all something fresh! Forewarning there's a bit more swearing in this chapter but the storyline situations kinda called for it. Sorry folks. And now, chapter 4! As always please read, review, but most of all, enjoy!

* * *

Dorland arrived at the briefing room only to realize that it had been two hours since he had returned to the station and that that in turn meant that Ethan Thomas was an hour late.

"How surprising," he thought dryly as he opened the door. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that he saw Ethan walking towards him from down the hall, naturally taking his sweet time.

Dorland paused, took a step back, and held the door open for him, not so much out of politeness as out of suspicion. He wanted to make sure that Ethan didn't take any more detours before heading into the room.

When Ethan reached the door he paused, giving Dorland an ugly look. Dorland thought about responding with his own, but on a whim, chose not to. He was far too tired to care at the moment, especially about someone he thought not above sewer scum.

The blank look must have surprised Ethan for his expression changed slightly and he blinked several times before carefully entering the room.

"Look on his face was almost worth that," Dorland thought smugly as he followed in after him.

As Farrel began the briefing, Dorland found he could barely pay attention to a single word that was being said. Too much was on his mind. He was still mulling over the possibility that he had been standing too close to the sonic emitters for too long and that this, all of this, was simply just a side effect. However unlikely the hypothesis might be it was far better, and more reasonable, than the alternative.

But since when had anything ever been reasonable in Metro City?

Dorland tried, unsuccessfully, to focus back on the briefing, but there was an annoying ringing sensation in his ears and he was suddenly beginning to develop a splitting headache. The lights overhead seemed to flare, making it hard for him to see. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to correct his vision but it did little good. The ringing, along with the glare, continued to grow in intensity.

"If the Oro wanted to contact me," Dorland thought as he gritted his teeth, "they could try my damn cell phone!"

The lights pulsed yet again and, for a brief moment, Dorland thought he saw figures of familiar people sitting in seats that had been empty just moments before. As soon as the glare of the lights faded away, however, he realized he had just been imagining things.

"Hey, Dorland," came a deep voice to his left followed by a quick nudge to his side.

Dorland turned to find Agent Pierce LeRue staring at him with a look of slight concern. Apparently his behavior had been noticeable. "Yeah?" Dorland asked, still trying to ignore the ringing sensation in his ears.

"Not to sound rude here, Dorland, but, well…you look like shit," LeRue said with a halfhearted laugh.

Dorland smirked in spite of himself. LeRue had that effect on people. "Same shit different day," Dorland replied with a short sigh as the ringing at long last stopped.

LeRue laughed but said little, for it was almost impossible for LeRue to say nothing—so said ten years of working with the man. "I hear that," he replied.

Dorland shook his head. LeRue was a hearty fellow, no doubt about that. The man almost always had a smirk on his face and always had something to say—a trait that could be annoying at times and beguiling at others. He was a good man and a good agent, in spite of the fact that he, like Rosa, was unaware of what was truly going on behind the scenes. Regardless of how anyone in the Bureau felt about his boisterous personality, LeRue got shit done, plain and simple, and that was a trait that Dorland respected.

Dorland turned his attention back to Director Farrel and heard the rest of the briefing out.

After the briefing was finally over the agents headed out, each going to their respective stations to grab their gear and prepare. Dorland was the last one to leave the room, a habit picked up from counting squad members as his team exited buildings. As he reached for the door the Director grabbed his arm.

"Dorland, just a moment," the Director said. "I need to speak with you."

Dorland eased the door closed and turned to face the Director. "Well?" he said impatiently.

"I heard you ran into one of Sergei's men, Inferi," he said as he walked back behind the desk in the middle of the room. "I heard you kept him from killing Mr. Thomas."

Dorland scoffed. "You heard wrong," he growled. "I kept Rosa from killing Inferi. Inferi's incompetence kept him from killing _Mr. Thomas_."

Farrel shook his head. "In any case, good work back there," he sighed. "But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Out with it then, I have a lot to do."

"The Oro's gone quiet…" he said grimly as he carefully sat down in a chair, the metal implants undoubtedly flaring up. "I haven't been able to get in touch with them since the word came down that Sergei was returning. That last thing they said was that they were _attending to matters _and told me to _deal with the situation_."

Dorland furrowed his brow in speculation. "What the hell does that mean?" he growled.

"That the shit may have just hit the fan and we're officially out of the loop," Farrel sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "At least for now."

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Dorland hissed as he clenched his fists. "What the hell are we suppose to do if we run into complications?!"

"Keep your voice down!" Farrel hissed. "Look, all I know is that they expect us to handle this. Apparently there are more important matters elsewhere."

Dorland laughed. "More important than dealing with Mr. Thomas?"

"They're still tailing him, aside from just our group," Farrel explained. "Besides, they believe that so long as he's in the dark he's only a moderate threat."

"Oh, moderate, right, so naturally the best course of action is to have him help us out on this case?!" Dorland growled. "What the hell are you thinking, Ike?! This shit is bound to blow up in all our fucking faces!"

"Enough!" Farrel shouted as he stood up from his seat, fist slamming down onto the table top. "Do as you're damn well told for once in your damn life, Charles! They're already ill with you! Don't give them a reason to debate your use again!"

Dorland froze. "What?"

The Director went pale. "You should go now," he said quietly.

"Not until you explain to me what the hell all that was about," Dorland hissed.

"You know damn well you've been under scrutiny ever since that day ten years ago, hell, even before that!" Farrel hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerously quiet level. "None of this should surprise you!"

Dorland's blood ran cold. With a strangled tremor in his voice he spoke. "After all I've done for them, all I've lost for them, they dare question my resolve? My wife is dead, Ike! What the hell else do I have to lose?"

There was a long pause before the Director spoke again. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, "Just keep your mouth shut and your head down, Charles, and do as I tell you for once, for your own sake. Just. Keep. Quiet."

Dorland stared at the Director in disbelief before abruptly turning for the door.

"Keep him alive, Dorland," Farrel warned. "We need to figure out what's going on."

"No promises," Dorland spat as he stormed out the door and headed towards the helo-pad.

* * *

"Why the FUCK does this keep happening to us?!" Dorland found himself screaming not three hours later.

"I guess this city just loves us too damn much!" he heard LeRue shout behind him.

They were not four feet from each other and yet they had to scream, scream almost at the top of their lungs just to be heard over the rioters behind them, the rioters that were now nipping at their heels. The whole mission had gone to hell the moment they'd been separated. "If only Ethan hadn't fallen down that damn shaft!" Dorland thought angrily. "Better yet, if only that damn elevator had crushed his sorry ass! Then we wouldn't be here!"

Over come with anger, Dorland began ranting. "One mission!" Dorland yelled. "One fucking mission! Is it too much to ask? That one damn thing go right?!"

"Apparently!" LeRue half growled, half laughed.

They were running down the commuter tracks, running from a blood crazed riot while carrying the dead body of Malcolm Vanhorn. "I only wish this son of a bitch wasn't dead so I could kill him myself!" Dorland growled, continuing on with his tirade.

"I can see it now," LeRue laughed. "Upstanding cop killed today on the commuter tracks of Metro City while trying to save…a _CORPSE_!"

"Glad to see you find this fiasco so damned amusing," Dorland muttered. "You get a contact high back there or something?"

"HA! If only," LeRue snorted. "This would look a damn sight more hopeful if I had."

"Amen to that," Dorland grumbled turning his eyes to the sky, searching for the helicopter that would be their one and only ticket out of there alive.

"Shit!" he swore aloud, having seen no sign of it. "Where the hell is our transport?!"

The voice of the copter pilot blared in Dorland's ears. "I'm on route—two minutes tops!" he said, assurance clearly lacking in his voice.

"You'd better make it one or there'll be no waiting for this table!" LeRue radioed the pilot.

"English, LeRue!" the pilot bellowed back.

LeRue sighed, audibly rolling his eyes. "Get your ass here or we're toast!" he growled.

"Roger that!"

"What the hell is wrong with our pilots?" LeRue asked.

"Shit if I know," Dorland sighed.

Dorland stole a quick glance over his shoulders. The only one thing rioters were closer to then LeRue and himself was Ethan, who had taken too long in exiting the building. He signaled LeRue to hold the body while he drew his hand gun, taking out two of the rioters.

It did little good. The mob that had accumulated behind Ethan was ten seconds away from swarming him. If he and LeRue were going to make it out alive, drastic measures were going to have to be taken.

"Looks like this isn't your day, Mr. Thomas," he thought as he took aim at a nearby transformer.

The second shot had sealed the deal. The transformer erupted into a sea of flames sending the rioters, hurtling to the ground and Ethan, who had been alongside the device, into a nearby fence before he too came crashing down.

"That should by us some time," he thought aloud.

"Sir," LeRue hissed, "Mr. Thomas is still back there."

"He'll find his way," he assured LeRue. "He lives in this filth."

LeRue replied to Dorland's last comment with only a dark look as he tried to radio Ethan, telling him of the extraction point. "Thomas! Meet us up ahead," he said. "We'll secure the area till the chopper arrives. Find your way around and meet up with us before this shit gets outta hand!"

"You his mother?" Dorland snapped. "We have Vanhorn. That was the objective!"

"The hell is wrong with you, Dorland?" LeRue spat. "He used to be one of us!"

"Used to be!" Dorland pointed out. "Right now, my main concern is getting you and this damn body out of here in one piece! Understood?!"

LeRue held his tongue—for once—but it was clear that he was none too pleased with the situation. "If you knew what was really going on," Dorland thought, "you might understand. The longer we stay around him, the higher our chances of dying."

Dorland knew that Ethan was a death sentence to anyone that surrounded him. But unfortunately for him, LeRue wasn't familiar with Ethan's colorful past, causing Dorland too look more brutish than usual. Dorland knew he would have to drive the point home in his own way, telling non-Oro members of Oro activities was the fastest way to get killed in his organization.

"Hate me if you want," he thought. "Least you'll get to go home and see your family tonight."

The flood of rioters continued almost without ceasing. They fought off the insane mob for what felt like an eternity, and, with each agonizing second, the two Metro Officers were beginning to run out of bullets.

"Dorland!" LeRue roared over the fire fight. "We gotta problem here!"

"I know, I know!" he yelled. "Hang in there, that damn chopper should be here any minute!"

As if on cue, the chopper blades could be heard, and before long the steel bird herself could be seen.

"Speak of the devil!" LeRue laughed. "Why didn't you do that sooner?"

"Har, har, LeRue," Dorland chided. "Load the corpse up and let's get the hell outta here."

The two SCU officers quickly strapped the body into the harness and gave the signal for the chopper pilot to pull it up.

"You next, LeRue!" Dorland shouted over the chaos.

"What about Thomas?"

"He's on his own!" Dorland shouted. "Now get your ass moving!"

"Are you nuts?!" LeRue retorted. "He won't last ten minutes out there!"

"Leave him!" Dorland barked once again. "That's. An. Order!"

LeRue gave him a long hard look but, with a few choice words, got on the helicopter as instructed. Dorland followed suit as fast as he was able and in moments they were flying over the mob infested streets, at last headed back to the Bureau.

There was a long and uneasy silence on the chopper ride back. LeRue was practically burning a hole into Dorland's forehead with the glare he was giving him. The tension was palpable, so much so that the loud mouth, wise cracking pilot kept his jaw firmly shut—only courageous enough to occasionally steal glances back at the two SCU officers.

Eventually LeRue could no longer stand it. "What the hell happened back there, Dorland?" LeRue growled. "Why the hell did we leave Thomas?! We could have waited! He was so damn close!"

Dorland sighed. "Not as close as you would like to believe, LeRue," he reminded him. "Just leave it. It was my call and I made it. You don't have to live with it, I do. So can it." He turned his attention from LeRue back to the direction of the chaos they had just barely managed to escape. "Besides," he continued, "Thomas is like a cockroach…It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to kill him…"

"Is that experience or disappointment I hear talkin?" LeRue said with a leer.

Dorland glared back at LeRue but didn't answer. He didn't have to because it didn't matter. None of it did. The fact remained that Ethan would undoubtedly turn back up on the Bureau's doorstep within the week spouting curses and death threats to match. Dorland would again be dragged through some hellacious endeavor only to watch it blow up in his face because the powers that be were too damn paranoid to deal with the matter the sane way.

Dorland was once again reminded of how much he hated Oro protocol.

At long last the chopper landed on the Bureau's rooftop. The body was extracted by a few of Dorland's underlings and taken to the morgue. Before they managed to cart the body off, and after both LeRue and the pilot were out of ear shot, Dorland reminded them not to let anyone examine the body until certain 'measures' had been taken place.

His men, all fellow Oro members, knew exactly what he meant. They affirmed that they would do as instructed and quickly headed on their way. With that, Dorland made his way down to his office.

Before he opened the door he realized his office lights were on. Dorland never left his office lights on. He sighed. "Usually only means one thing," he muttered.

Dorland opened the door and was greeted by an impatient looking Ron Harris. The red-headed Scots-Irishman glared at him as he entered the room. "What the hell have you gone 'n fucked up?" he growled at Dorland as he stepped into his office.

Dorland blinked, surprised. "Hi, Ron…how are you?" he said flatly as he glared at the man in front of him, the only sound in the room being that of the weighted door quietly closing itself.

"One of the other Oro's recons came by and was snooping around your office while you were out," Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wanna tell me what the hell he was looking for?"

Dorland's jaw dropped. "_What?_"

Ron looked taken aback. Apparently he had been expecting Dorland to _not_ be surprised. "Y-yeah…" he said hesitantly. "'Think he was from the Umbra the way he kept hoverin. He moved around some of the lower offices and then came straight up here. Sergei had to chase him off."

Dorland ran a hand over his buzzed head as he walked behind his desk. He let out a long, aggravated sigh before inquiring more about his 'visitor'. "You the only one that noticed him?" Dorland asked.

"Me and Sergei," Harris replied. "Don't think anyone else even knew he was here. Shouldn't surprise you though, he is recon." 'S kinda his job, it'n it?"

"Then how did you recognize him?"

Ron frowned. "Well for one thing, Sergei's brought a few through here before, smart ass," he growled. "And everyone from that damn squad looks the fuckin same. To top it off the bloody idiot practically told me. Looked up from my desk and the creep was standin right in front of me. Asked him if he needed something and he just smirked and walked off. I called Sergei after that. Figure'd somethin was up."

Ron sneered when Dorland looked surprised, however faint his expression was. "Alright asshole, I know I've slacked off here lately but even I don't deserve this BS," Ron hissed as he crossed his arms defiantly across his chest, the red on the back of his neck nearing that of his hair.

Dorland snorted. "Sorry, Ron," he said. "More grateful then surprised."

Ron dismissed Dorland's remark with a wave of his hand. "Yea, yea," he said. "Stow it and tell me what the hell's going on."

Dorland shook his head and gave a slight shrug, which only aggravated the Scots-Irishman further. But before he could begin another rant, Dorland interrupted him. "I honestly don't know, Ron," he said, cutting off a sharp and aggravated intake of breath on Harris's part. "Some weird shit's going down and I'm just as in the dark as you."

Ron eyed his friend carefully. "What'd ya mean, _weird shit_?" he asked.

Dorland rubbed the sides of his head and let his gaze drop down to the desk. Without looking up he answered as quietly as possible. "…Some of my wife's things turned up today…"

Dorland couldn't see Ron's reaction, but he could hear it—a slight intake of breath followed by the sound of a gulp and hands gripping arms even tighter. "W-what?" he asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

"Don't make me say it again, Ron," he sighed.

He heard Ron's arms go slack, heard him turn and start pacing around the room as he rubbed his jaw. He heard him slowly walk over to the front of the desk and flop down in one of the office chairs.

"That ain't just weird shit, that's down right…it's…ugh…" Ron shuttered.

Dorland glared up at him. The only one who had a right to freak out was him, and Ron's melt down was not helping him maintain his composure.

"Right," Ron coughed. "Sorry…So…now what?"

"Hell if I—"Dorland was unable to finish his sentence, having just realized what he thought the recon was after.

"What?"

Dorland ignored Harris as he frantically pulled at the drawer where he had stored his wife's gun, praying that it was still locked.

No such luck.

The drawer slung open as Dorland yanked on the handle revealing a very, very empty drawer.

"FUCK!" Dorland shouted as he slammed his fist down hard on his desk causing it to give a violent shake.

Ron was immediately set back on edge. "What?!"

Dorland shot up from his desk, pacing behind it as he held his jaw with one hand in an attempt to keep from screaming. "The gun—my wife's gun—Sergei…_found_ it…" he said, panic creeping into his voice. "I locked it up in my desk…"

"—and now it's gone…" Ron groaned as he slumped back into the office chair.

Dorland abruptly stopped pacing. "…Guess this mean it wasn't the Oro…" he thought aloud.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly as he stepped out from behind the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron asked as he too shot up from his seat.

"Need to talk to Sergei," he said quickly. "See you tomorrow."

He heard Ron sigh behind him. "And if you suddenly don't show up for work?"

"Then say something nice at my funeral," Dorland said as he threw open the door and headed to Sergei's office downstairs.

He only made it three steps out the door before his pager started blaring. "Gonna have to wait, old man," he growled as he turned the device off and continued on his way.

When he arrived at Sergei's office he found that all the lights were off but the door, as usual, was unlocked. Dorland wasn't sure if he was there but he tired it anyways. He quietly walked into the barren room and looked around.

The office, lacking in anything that even resembled sentimental value, consisted of one desk, one filing cabinet, a standard computer, two small office chairs and one tiny couch-like piece of furniture. It was on the couch he found Sergei lightly dozing.

Dorland sighed, reluctant to wake the exhausted Russian. He had heard only rumors of what the missions were like—the ones he personally was sent on—and none of those were ever pleasant. The task of waking the Russian however was done for him for Sergei suddenly opened his eyes and looked right up at Dorland.

A small flicker of a smile danced across the Russian's face as a mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes. "You're not a pretty Serbian girl," he jeered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Sergei always had an odd sense of humor.

"No…" Dorland said flatly as he cocked an eyebrow. "Good dream I take it?"

The Russian grinned suggestively as he looked off, almost as if to remember. "Da," he sighed dreamily. "Oh well, all things must end I suppose." He sat up and turned to face Dorland. "What can I do for you, comrade?"

"Heard I had a visitor."

All semblance of humor plummeted from the Russian's face as his expression turned to one of stone and ice.

He nodded.

"And I take it you don't have the gun either?"

The Russian's eyes widened ever so slightly before being reduced to slits. He heard Sergei spout something in Russian. "No," he growled. "Why didn't you take it with you?"

Dorland scoffed. "For all I know that thing could be bugged. Ain't no way in hell it was going anywhere with me."

Sergei shot him a dark look knowing full well that that wasn't the real reason, but he chose not to press the matter.

There was a long pause, each man running over the different scenarios in his head, each more unpleasant then the next. "How many conclusions do you figure they'll jump to?" Dorland asked.

The Russian laughed. "If they think one of her splinter factions has contacted you…" Sergei trailed off.

Dorland glared at Sergei. "She didn't have a splinter faction."

"Your wife had influence, however small," Sergei sighed. "People respected her, knew she didn't do things without just cause. She spoke little, but when she did, people tended to listen, and when she acted, they tended to follow. In the eyes of the Oro, that's a splinter faction."

Dorland grunted in disgust but chose to drop the matter. It was a conversation he'd rather not have, so he chose to change the subject.

"What about you?" he asked. "You think they'll come after you for chasing him off?"

"Possibly, though I doubt it," Sergei said as he stood up from his seat and walked towards the center of the room. "The different Recon teams tend to be territorial of their base of operations. The fact that I was none too happy he was nosing around in my assigned area should appear normal."

"_Should_," Dorland pointed out.

Sergei shook his head. "I was careful of what little I said," he assured Dorland. "To have another recon search our assigned areas while we are present is taken as an insult. The fact that I chased him off the scene is expected. If I didn't, it would be as if I were admitting guilt in some fashion. I defended the Bureau, not your office—at least—that is how it will appear. If they chose to conduct an investigation on me, it will be because they are paranoid, not because I gave them a reason."

Dorland was surprised at the thought Sergei had placed into how he had played the matter. He knew this was the kind of thing that Sergei did on a regular basis, but it was rare to get a play by play. "You really thought this thing through, huh?" he said.

Sergei smiled. "But of course."

There was another pause before Sergei spoke again.

"Go home, my friend," he said. "You should rest. There is nothing more we can do now until we know how the Oro will react."

Dorland nodded. He was right, as usual. Fatigue began to wash over him. He hadn't realized how tired he was. "Yea…" he conceded. "I could use a few winks…" He looked over at Sergei. "You look like you could use a few too."

The Russian smiled wanly as he nodded. "Da, that I could," he said. "That we both could…"

With a smile and a nod the two men went their separate ways. Dorland quietly exited the Bureau, cranked his patrol car, and began the long drive back to his apartment. It was sometime during his ride back home that his cell phone began ringing.

He flipped the phone open with a tired sigh. "Dorland here," he growled.

"Nice of you to report in," came the gravelly, not so enthused voice of Director Ike Farrel.

"Ah…"

There was a long, agitated sigh on the other side of the line. "I can't believe that you…_left_ him in the middle of that..._riot_!"

"Funny," Dorland hissed, "I remembered recovering the body of a certain Malcolm Vanhorn being the top priority. I don't recall being ordered to baby sit."

The Director reprimanded him. "I told you to keep him alive!" he barked.

Dorland sighed in frustration. "Well apparently he made it back otherwise you wouldn't be calling me and wasting my time," he growled.

There was a pause on the other end. "You're damn well lucky he did," he chided. There was another pause. "FUBAR mission aside, Dorland, I need you to do something."

"What?" Dorland snapped.

"I need you to disappear for a few days…"

"…_What?"_

"You've attracted a lot of attention suddenly," he explained. "An Umbra came looking for you, for crying out loud! You're only lucky the helo-extraction took so damn long."

"Again with this damn Umbra," Dorland snarled. "What the hell have I done exactly?"

"Hell if I know yet, but I'm trying to figure it out."

"Great," Dorland snorted. "Fantastic. How the hell are you gonna explain me returning from a mission and then suddenly not showing up for work for several days? R and R?"

"Who said you came back?"

Dorland sighed, he was severely lacking in the energy required to play solve the cryptic phrase. "The twenty cameras, four SCU agents, Sergei, Ron, and LeRue say I came back," he said.

"Easy fix," Farrel assured him. "Tapes get lost, re-written. Your four men, Ron, and Sergei will do as I tell them because they know the drill. As for LeRue, I'll think of something."

"I don't believe this."

"Believe it, Charles," The Director insisted. "The Umbra could still be looking for you. Keep your head down and please, stay quiet this time."

"No COM chatter I take?"

"Of course not."

"Right..." Dorland murmured. "And how the hell do I know you're not setting me up right now? _Please fall off the map for a few days and cut yourself off from communications_? To say that sounded suspicious would just insult my intelligence, a lot like what you're doing now."

"Dammit, Chuck!" Farrel growled. "After all of this time, all of these years, you still don't trust me? You know I wouldn't do that to you!"

"Don't take it personally," Dorland replied. "I haven't trusted a lot of people in the last ten years."

"Yourself included?"

Dorland's blood ran cold. His rage caused his words to fail him. He heard the Director sigh. "Chuck—I didn't mean that—"

"—Like hell you did."

"Chuck—"

"Shut up!" Dorland hissed. "I'll do as you ask but if I think for one second that you've sold me out, I'm gonna come down on you so damn hard I'll make the Hate's interrogations look like a fucking reprieve!"

"Dorland—"

He never heard the Director out. He cut him off with a flick of the phone's cover and roughly shoved the device in one of his many vest pockets. Shortly thereafter he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and parked his car haphazardly in his designated section, taking a few minutes to collect himself before killing the engine and heading up to his apartment room. Upon arriving at his room, he fumbled with his keys momentarily before opening the door and stepping inside.

The room was cold, colder then he remembered leaving it, but it wasn't an uncommon thing for his heater to cut out and the temperature therein to plummet. It was an unfortunate side effect of living in a rundown apartment.

The room was pitch black too. Dorland could barely see a thing. He groped for the light switch for a few minutes before at last finding it and flipping it on. He took two steps into the room and then…

He saw him.

"Good evening, Special Agent Dorland," rumbled a man's voice from the middle of the room. "Please close the door. The Oro would like a word with you."


End file.
